It is the shining cuckoo,
oh listen to him sing.
In the pastures and the bushlands,
once again we know it's spring.
All through the summer weather,
we'll hear his merry cry.
But when the wind blows colder,
far away,
away
you'll fly.
In springtime and the summer,
I'll sing the live long day.
But winter comes so soon, dear,
when I too must go away.
But do not dread the parting,
nor count my love untrue.
For like the shining cuckoo,
I'll return, dear one,
to you.
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